Of Drunken Nights
by eeveekitty85
Summary: A very depressing take on the traditional DoctorRose pregnancy fic. Contains quite maudlin stuff so don't read if you want a lift...please read it though! I wrote it with Ten in mind, but it can be Nine if you want. Oneshot.


**Of Drunken Nights**

**Notes: **It's not particularly cheery, but I thought I'd put a nice depressing spin on the old 'the Doctor and Rose are having a baby' theme.

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It started so long ago that now she can barely believe there was a time when this wasn't everything. Dodging the questions, the inquiring looks. How does she feel this morning? Was she sick again? She hates it when he asks, even though she knows perfectly well why he does. He cares about her so much, which makes this even harder.

She's learnt that a woolly jumper will go an awfully long way. Thick woollen clothes when it's cold. Baggy jeans for the first month, then tracksuits. Jogging trousers. Men's shirts, probably his, that fall down to her knees and swathe her in warm, safe material. If he notices the change in her attire, he doesn't mention it. There's a lot of silence between them these days.

After three months she can use the excuse of a visit home to get him to take her back to London. Back to Earth. Because on Earth he's happy to leave her for just a while. A day is all the time she needs for this to be over, and she's completely certain that this is how it has to be. She tells him to wait at the TARDIS because she wants to catch up with some friends. He pauses, looks at her for a moment, _really _looks. And she's terrified because perhaps he's guessed, perhaps he knows…

She never meant for this. She thought about it so much, but that was when she was still a little girl looking for adventures and romance. This has forced her to be an adult. And when she's alone and she puts her hands to her stomach, she can feel it. It moves inside her, so incredibly alive that she cries. Feeling it kicking makes her want to keep it…

The woman at the desk takes her name. Rose Marion Tyler. It sounds so formal coming from a stranger. When he says her name…when he's laughing with her, when he's worried about her, when he's angry with her…and that one and only time she thought he was in love with her…She squeezes her eyes shut and digs her nails into her palms. The angry red marks remind her of here and now. The pain brings her back. She can't linger in that past any more.

If she thinks about it, if for a moment her discipline breaks and she thinks of drunken nights and whispered words that don't mean a thing in the daylight…

She can't keep it. Can't tell him about it. Perhaps he'd love a family. She knows he likes the idea. But all the things a family really means… It means years of being trapped inside the TARDIS. Years of having to stay safe, of not living the way he has to live. She can't do that to him. Tying him down, locking him away, is the one thing that she couldn't ever do. She can lie to him. She can break his heart. She can kiss him and love him and curl up in his arms but she will not take away his freedom.

When she gets back to the TARDIS, cold and hungry and in so much pain, he's waiting for her. And finally she allows herself to break down, to fall into his open arms and tell him everything. She expects him to be angry. He isn't. His eyes, usually so full of passion, are dead and cold. This makes her sob harder because she finally realises exactly what she's done by lying for so long. There's a great distance in his face as he holds her, comforts her, because his heart and mind are elsewhere.

Even that night, when he kisses her and tells her everything she wants to hear, he's not truly there. It's the moment she's always wished for, a moment that should have been perfect. The grand confession. And yes, he probably does love her, very much. But he's not with her. His eyes look at her, but he's with the child that he never got to hold.

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